


Lucifer Morningstar is Always Naked

by apricot_poodle



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Worshiping at the Temple of Lucifer's Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 19:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricot_poodle/pseuds/apricot_poodle
Summary: Chloe thinks Lucifer should be naked a lot less often. Why is he always naked?





	Lucifer Morningstar is Always Naked

Lucifer Morningstar definitely needs to be naked a lot less often.

If there’s anything Chloe’s learned in three years of partnership, it’s that Lucifer has no shame. He says whatever is on his mind, doesn’t always consider the consequences of his actions, and for a man who likes to be impeccably dressed, he is naked  _ a lot _ . 

Other than the first time he tried to seduce her in his penthouse, the naked hasn’t even been about her. (Which she appreciates; she couldn’t work with a harasser.) Chloe knows that Lucifer is missing boundaries that most people take for granted. He’s a hedonist through and through, a person who lives so in the present, he forgets that the future even exists. 

Chloe doesn’t know how to be that way. She tried everything to let go in her twenties - clubbing, ragers with friends, she even smoked a joint - but she’s so future-focused that she was always on a strict path. Get out of acting. Apply to the police academy. Work at her father’s station. Make detective. Fall in love. Have a child. Succeed.

Achieving her goals is a heady rush that she has a hard time articulating. She knows that Lucifer wants to understand how she ticks, but whenever she tries to explain, he cocks his head in a way that she knows he’s listening, but he’s not  _ getting it _ .

There’s nothing wrong with different worldviews, of course, but sometimes Chloe wishes that Lucifer worldview contained a little less nudity.

The first naked instance occurs several months into their partnership. Lucifer strips and gives his clothing to a man in need, and Chloe once again gets face to face with Lucifer’s incredible body. She convinces him to cover up with a blanket from her trunk, but that’s twice now that he’s left her with the memory of his long, lithe torso, the cut of his hips that draws her eyes down to -  _ Chloe, stop! _

She thought it was over after that. Lucifer does his best to learn, and with a firm rule of “no nudity on the job,” Chloe was satisfied that his naked body could remain in her memory and her memory only. 

How wrong she was.

Her second têtê-à-têtê with naked Lucifer happens in the early morning. The night before, she told Lucifer she would pick him up at seven for a stakeout, so she takes the elevator at Lux expecting to meet a fully-dressed, ready-to-go Lucifer.

It’s quiet when she steps out into the penthouse. The curtains around the balcony are open, but that’s not a great indicator of whether Lucifer is home. He doesn’t close them much. 

Chloe later wishes she had called out, but in the moment she winds her way around the bar and toward his bedroom where the morning sun is streaming in. She’s about to call Lucifer’s name when her voice dies in her throat just long enough for her brain to take a mental snapshot of the scene in front of her.

Lucifer lies in bed, one hand holding his cell phone as he watches something on the screen, the other underneath his silk sheets, which are draped low across his hips. The hard plane of his pecs and stomach is beautiful, the morning sun streaming across his body, the gauzy bedroom curtains pushed open to let in the light.

“Morningstar” has never seemed more appropriate.

Lucifer’s hand moves under the sheet, lazily stroking himself. Chloe can tell that’s it’s more for pleasure than completion, and she’s never been so grateful for a thin layer of silk. She’s seen him fully nude, but never aroused, and despite her limited experience, it’s obvious that he’s...quite large.

Chloe’s stomach flutters as her eyes trace his Roman profile, from his sharp nose to the perfect curve of his mouth. His long neck is flattering even when he’s lying down, reinforcing her belief that everything about Lucifer is effortlessly elegant, despite whispers she’s heard at the precinct insinuating he does it all for show.

He hasn’t noticed her yet, engrossed as he is in whatever’s on his phone. His thumb is scrolling, so it’s not a video, and Chloe has the strangest impression that he’s browsing the news. Not really how she does it, but to be fair, it is Lucifer. 

She steadfastly adds the scene to a black box in her mind labeled “never think of this again,” but she knows it’s a lie. She’ll take that memory out of the box when she’s lying alone in her own bed, lonely, and probably a little bit horny.

Finally, she’s able to pull herself from the moment and clear her throat. Lucifer’s eyes flick over to her and he breaks into a pleased smile, not at all embarrassed to have been caught stroking himself.

“Detective! I wasn’t expecting you!” Lucifer drops his phone on the mattress and pushes out of bed, the black silk sheets falling away. Chloe squeaks and swivels to face the piano, a rush of warmth climbing up the back of her neck and face. Her heart pounds and she’s aware of Lucifer behind her.

“We were supposed to meet at seven, Lucifer,” she says. 

“Oh? You meant in the morning?” He laughs. The sound tickles down her spine. “I thought it was tonight. My apologies.”

“Ok, well, can you get ready?” She has never before stared so hard at a piano. 

“Yes, Detective, be ready in a jiff.” 

She looks over her shoulder to see Lucifer and his incredible butt disappear down the hallway. 

This is how Chloe learns to always be specific when giving Lucifer a meeting time. 

***

The third naked time is all Chloe’s fault. It’s a few weeks after Lucifer was kidnapped and left in the desert, and his days of stripping down for no good reason seem to be behind him. He’s been a more thoughtful, perhaps more maudlin Lucifer since his return, and Chloe has missed his carefree exuberancy. 

Chloe and Lucifer have been hunting a suspect whom they tracked to a construction site in the hills. The weather the entire week has been wet, cold, and dreary, but this night in particular strikes Chloe as exceptionally dark. It’s kind of silly, thinking one night is darker than another, but the way the rain beats down on her shoulders, obscuring her vision, leaves an impression of vast darkness. 

She knows Lucifer is somewhere nearby. She checks out the area with her flashlight, and sees his lanky body gracefully slide between two concrete pillars, then disappear again into the night. Chloe creeps further along, slipping on the muddy ground. 

A man emerges from the darkness to her right, knife in one hand, and he swings at her with a manic cry. Chloe stumbles backwards, dropping her flashlight in the mud. The light flickers out, plunging her into terrifying darkness. 

She lands on her butt and rolls out of the way, mud caking her hands and clothing. Her attacker lands hard on the ground near her, slipping in the same grime. Chloe presses the momentary advantage to reach for her gun, but her hand flicks past an empty holster. Shit. She scrambles and ducks behind a large shipping crate.

Thunder rumbles along the sky and the rain pounds down. Chloe feels the chill to her bones, so cold it cuts through her terror.

Where is Lucifer?

She risks a peek around the crate, but the man is gone. His knife glints in the mud as a streak of lighting lights up the sky, and Chloe spares a quiet sigh of relief that he’s hopefully disarmed, if he doesn’t somehow have her gun. 

No matter, she’s still a sitting duck out here. Chloe ducks down, rushing from crate to crate, toward the place she last saw Lucifer. They have to get out of here. The rain is too heavy; they’ll never spot the suspect, and with Chloe disarmed, they lack superior force. The backup she called in thirty minutes ago still hasn’t shown.

Just as she reaches the concrete pillars, the suspect slams into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Chloe ends up back in the mud, staring up at a madman who is  _ most definitely carrying her gun _ . He screams something at her, but she can’t hear it over the torrential rain. He brings the gun to bear, finger going to the trigger, and as he’s about to shoot, Lucifer emerges from the darkness behind him like some avenging angel. 

Chloe swears her terror is playing tricks on her because Lucifer’s eyes appear to be two whirling pools of red, and then he’s on the man, brutally punching him in the back of the head. The suspect drops bonelessly to the ground, gun tumbling from his hand, and then Lucifer is gathering Chloe in his arms, whispering, “Detective, Detective.”

That’s when backup arrives. They bustle the suspect away after making sure he’s not grievously injured, and Chloe and Lucifer are on their way to “warm up and report to the station in the morning.”

Chloe insists on driving. The roads, thankfully, are clear due to a combination of the late hour and the storm, so she takes them to her place to get dry and warm up. Even with the heat going full blast in the car, Chloe’s fingers still feel like icicles and she can tell Lucifer isn’t much warmer. 

The house is dark and quiet. Trixie is with Dan for the weekend and Maze is in one of the Carolinas looking for a bounty. Mercifully, the house is also warm. Chloe immediately heads upstairs and changes into her warmest pajamas, and only when she comes back down the stairs does she realize that Lucifer is standing in the middle of the living room, still wet and shivering.

If he didn’t look so miserable, he’d be adorable. His hair lies flat and matted, his suit is a nightmarish, muddy ruin, and his always impeccably-styled pocket square completely gone. 

“Lucifer, I’m so sorry!” Chloe rushes over and begins to unbutton his jacket, caught up in the desire to get him warm and dry. Her brain takes a moment to catch up with her actions, and it’s his deep chuckle (that doesn’t shoot sparks to her groin, not at all) that brings her into reality. She yanks her hands off him and crosses her arms, embarrassed. 

“Detective, if you wanted me to take my clothes off, all you have to do is ask.” Lucifer’s large smile is self-satisfied, but his eyes twinkle with the tease. 

“We have to get you dry, Lucifer. You’ll catch a cold. Go upstairs and get out of those clothes, ok?”

“Whatever you desire,” he says, and pauses just a moment to remove his shoes before padding upstairs. 

Chloe runs water for the teakettle and turns on the burner before realizing - again - that she has forgotten to fully assist Lucifer. He may not know where she keeps the towels and she should find him some kind of robe or something (Lord knows she doesn’t have any clothing that will properly fit his lanky frame). 

She thunders up the stairs, grabs a towel out of the hallway closet, and throws open the door to her bedroom, only to come face to face with a very naked, very delicious Lucifer. 

He’s run a hand through his drying hair, leaving it tousled like she’s imagined his bed head would be. His chest is still wet, and as she stands there, mute, a bead of water trails down the side of his neck from his hair, dips over a sharp collarbone, and like something out of either a nightmare or a fantasy, traces the edge of his nipple before dripping onto the floor. 

Chloe’s eyes flicker downward, mouth going dry. Time has definitely not blurred her memory of the sharp angle of Lucifer’s hip bones, and the chiseled V that her eyes follow down to a trimmed pleasure trail. 

Lucifer makes no move to cover himself, and Chloe can tell that he’s enjoying the attention as his quite uncut and quite gorgeous cock begins to fill and rise. 

Chloe’s legs go noodley, and it’s only when Lucifer takes a step towards her that she remembers to cover her eyes with the towel and wish she could sink through the floor, through the bottom of the house, and perhaps all the way to the Earth’s molten core where she can die of embarrassment. 

“You don’t have to cover your eyes, Detective,” Lucifer says. “It’s quite alright.” His hand brushes her hair. Chloe has no idea how he’s always okay with this, like he’s not human or something. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers from behind the towel. “I shouldn’t have barged in.”

Lucifer pushes the towel downwards so he can meet her eyes. His expression is tender, unguarded. “Chloe, there’s nothing I have that isn’t yours to take.” They gaze at each other, but the swell of emotion becomes too much for her to handle. 

“Lucifer….” She thrusts the towel at him and, not knowing what else to do, flees the room.

He joins her downstairs several minutes later, towel around his waist. Chloe gives him a blanket and they curl up on their respective sides of the couch. Neither mentions what happened upstairs. She turns on the tv and they watch an old movie in silence.

She wakes up the next morning alone on the couch, several blankets stretched out across her. Lucifer is gone, but the blanket she gave him is tucked tightly around her shoulders. It still smells like him.

Chloe swears to herself that it’s the last time she sees Lucifer Morningstar’s naked body. 

She’s got to stop making herself that promise. 

***

Chloe Decker’s world is upside-down, reverse-sideways, utterly bananas. She paces back and forth across her living room, a long white feather in hand, and tries to talk herself out of the truth.

Lucifer Morningstar, her partner, her best friend, her frequent jerkoff material, is the Devil.  _ The Devil _ . His weird quirks and behaviors make so much more sense now. His misunderstanding of so many mundane social norms, the way he doesn’t quite fit in unless he’s losing himself in other people’s desires, his startling inhibitions. Do angels even have inhibitions? 

She’s been torturing herself with questions for weeks now, and with her forced month-long leave from work after Pierce’s death, she’s got nothing to do but think. 

She and Lucifer have traded only a few texts.

_ Are you ok? _ He sends every couple of days, seeming to understand that she needs space.

_ Yes _ . She doesn’t say more. 

Chloe is ready to rip the bandaid off the wound. If she stays cooped up inside with only her own brain for one more day, she’ll actually go crazy through no fault of Lucifer’s. 

Decision made, Chloe dresses in jeans and a long-sleeved button-up shirt. She ties her hair back into her usual no-nonsense ponytail and dons her favorite pair of ankle boots. Lucifer has made her appreciate the way clothing can be functional but also like armor. Chloe Decker is a jeans girl through and through, and if she’s getting through today, she wants to feel strong. 

She doesn’t text or call Lucifer to tell him she’s coming over. Chloe needs to be in control after spending the last three years not knowing the truth about her partner. If he’s unprepared to see her, well, tough shit.

They’re going to talk through this entire thing, no holds barred.

Her steely resolve lasts until the elevator doors open, and Chloe hears Lucifer playing the piano. 

Lucifer doesn’t acknowledge the elevator’s soft ding. A lit cigarette rests in an ashtray atop the piano, accompanied by a glass of whiskey. Lucifer’s long fingers skim gracefully across the keys, and Chloe vaguely recognizes the piece. Mozart? Bach? It doesn’t matter.

His suit today is a gorgeous royal purple, offset by a black shirt. He’s not wearing the jacket, but he is in his own home. Chloe adores jewel tones on him, the way they make his deep brown eyes look like bottomless pools of night. A prince of darkness. 

She watches him play for a minute or two, then slides in next to him on the piano bench. Lucifer loses tempo for a moment, but continues to play until the piece is finished. 

They sit in silence. Lucifer takes a drag on the cigarette, then stubs it out. 

“Chloe,” he says, voice hesitant, low. He doesn’t look at her. She knows him well enough to tell that he’s terrified. She thinks she would be too if someone she cared for deeply saw her innermost self. 

She places her hand atop his where it still rests on the piano keys. Lucifer sucks in a deep breath and looks over at her. He looks tired.

“Hey,” she says. 

His mouth quirks upwards in a brief smile. “Hey.” Despite their weeks of stilted communication, the awkwardness has broken. 

“I missed you,” she admits, “and I was angry at you. And curious. And frustrated.”

“I know. Have you had enough time?”

“I think so. I don’t want things to be strained between us anymore. I want to know you as…” She gestures at him. “you.”

He snorts. “In my experience,  _ knowing _ me means most people don’t want anything to do with me.” She understands he’s not referring to humans. How deep his wounds go, and all this time, she thought he was speaking in metaphors. 

“Lucifer, I always want to have something to do with you,” she replies, and realizes the truth of her words. She wants him in her life, and not just as her partner or her friend. She wants  _ him _ . 

Something must show on her face because Lucifer’s gaze intensifies, darkens. An electric spark ignites in the space between them. Chloe feels a little like prey, but if the way her heart pounds means anything, she’s ready for Lucifer to be the hunter. 

He leans down and captures her mouth in a kiss that is no way tender or chaste like their previous kisses have been. One hand snakes around her waist, tugging her up and into his lap so they’re facing each other, her legs resting on either side of him on the piano bench. 

Hesitant at first, it doesn’t take long before Chloe feels heady with lust, drugged on Lucifer’s confidence. He kisses her deeper, tongue licking into her mouth, and she knows that if she’s going to stop them from going further, it has to be now.

Instead, she grinds against him and begins to unbutton his vest. He growls, making room for her to get her hands between them. The vest slides off, and Lucifer carefully lies it atop the piano. He hasn’t stopped kissing her. 

Chloe is made of single-minded intent, and begins work on his shirt, pulling it out from his pants. Lucifer huffs a laugh, but doesn’t stop her. His own hands are still holding her tight; Chloe would have assumed he’d be undressing her as quickly as possible, but he is simply reveling in the moment, letting her take charge. 

The shirt slides down Lucifer’s arms, and he catches it and flings it at the couch. Chloe bends over awkwardly, kissing his neck and collarbones. She’s wanted to touch those collarbones for an absurdly long time. Lucifer smells heavenly (she’ll unpack that one later), a uniquely masculine scent that isn’t manufactured. 

“Chloe,” he moans, and she can feel his erection straining against his pants. She wants to reach down and touch him, but her hands are still too busy running up and down his long back, feeling the unblemished skin. His scars from long ago are gone. Chloe hasn’t seen them yet, but she knows that his wings are whole now. 

Lucifer abruptly stands, scooting the piano bench back. He’s holding Chloe by her thighs, and she loops one hand around his neck and wraps her legs around his waist, meeting his mouth again. She nips at his lips and he sucks in a breath, pleased. Chloe’s not really into pain during sex, but it doesn’t surprise her that Lucifer would enjoy at least some. 

They stand there for some time, lost in each other’s mouths. Chloe keeps expecting Lucifer to put her down, but he shows no obvious signs of strain. How easy it is to forget that he could hold her like this for hours. She’s seen his superhuman strength at work.

Lucifer lowers her a bit, and she feels the hard length of him graze her crotch.

“I - I want to see you,” she says, blushing. They meet eyes, and Chloe is glad that Lucifer looks as thoroughly debauched as she feels. 

“Of course,” he says, voice husky. Lucifer sets her down, hands running up her sides.

Chloe bites her lip, ignoring Lucifer’s soft, pleased laugh, and slides the soft leather of his belt through the buckle. He makes no move to assist, which suits her just fine. With a soft pop, she opens the top button of his slacks, and then draws the zipper downward. His erection tents out, only contained by his tight boxer briefs. 

She removes her hands and his pants drop to pool around his feet at the floor. Lucifer kicks his shoes off and steps out of the pant legs, removing his socks as he goes. Clotheshorse as he is, he drapes the pants over the back of the couch. 

Chloe soaks it all in. She’s seen it before, but now, it’s all hers. He’s...perfect, and of course he is, he’s the Devil, the man who fills the world’s deepest desires. 

“Like what you see?” He turns in a slow circle, reminiscent of all those years ago, but now Chloe doesn’t look away. She steps up to him and hooks her fingers over the top of his boxer briefs, tugs them downwards. Unlike Lucifer, she doesn’t care where she tosses them. 

She stands, running her hands up the sides of his legs, then his butt, waist, and holds him close to her. Lucifer cups her chin, tilting her head so they’re once again looking each other in the eye. His pupils are blown wide with lust. 

“Sit,” she commands, pointing at the piano bench. He makes one of his approving noises, and follows her direction. Then, she’s kneeling down between his legs - they go on forever - and wraps her hand around his cock. It pulses, eliciting another groan from Lucifer. 

His cock is so pretty. Long, not too slender, not curved to either side. Divine, one might say. Chloe pumps it once, again, and Lucifer’s hips buck. She looks up just in time to see his head fall back, exposing his long, elegant neck. 

The image is too much. Her body tightens and she leans forward, swirling her tongue around the head of Lucifer’s cock, pumping gently at the base. Lucifer makes a strangled noise, and it emboldens her. She swallows him down as far as she can go, bobbing her head, then licks him like he’s a popsicle. 

Sucking dick is like riding a bike, and though it’s been a few years - she and Marcus never did this - she remembers how much she likes the feeling of control, making her partner fall apart in her hands, her mouth. 

Lucifer is just as responsive as she hoped, and he’s not at all shy about making noise. Chloe keeps licking and sucking, tasting the precome at the tip of his slit. Then, after swallowing him back down, she comes back up, running her teeth gently over him. His cry is  _ electric _ . It’s like she’s hit the magic switch, so she does it again while pumping him at the base, harder and harder.

“I’m -” he gasps out, and Chloe smiles around his cock, and gives him one more stroke before he’s coming, the piano bench creaking dangerously where he’s holding the edge. Chloe rides it out, swallowing it all, and pulls away to watch him put himself back together.

Lucifer is boneless against the piano, having released the bench to prop himself up on the keys with his elbows. It can’t be comfortable, but Chloe gets the impression he’s not on Earth at the moment. It gives her the chance to admire him unnoticed. 

“Darling,” he finally says, “where did you learn to do  _ that _ ?” From Lucifer, it’s a compliment of the highest order. 

“I’m a cop, not a nun.” They don’t need to have a conversation right this moment about Chloe’s former partners, and Lucifer lets the hedge go without a word. 

“Indeed, Detective. I do think it’s your turn, however.” Lucifer stands, takes her hand, and draws her to her feet. “First we need to address the fact that you’re wearing far too much clothing.”

Chloe couldn’t agree more. Together, they strip her of her jacket and shirt. Lucifer pauses to admire her bra, a lacy thing she’d given no thought to when she put it on earlier, and Chloe suddenly hopes her underwear isn’t too casual. 

“Lucifer likes,” he purrs, and reaches around to unhook her bra. He slides it down her arms and lays it on the couch next to his pants.

Chloe finds herself nervous. She knows he’s seen  _ Hot Tub High School _ , so most of the world has seen her breasts, but she thinks that twenty years and a child have made her breasts even better, and she hopes that Lucifer agrees. There’s that nagging worry in the back of her mind that he’ll compare her to someone like The Brittanys and find that she looks too old.

“Oh, my,” Lucifer says, and her worry evaporates. He cups her breasts in his hands and runs his thumbs over her nipples. Chloe’s breath catches in her throat. He squeezes her breasts gently, then leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, laps at it with his tongue, while rolling her other nipple between his fingers. Not hard, but enough that it shoots lighting straight to her center. 

Chloe has never been so wet. 

Lucifer switches sides, flicking her nipple with his tongue. His free hand drifts downwards and unbuttons her jeans. Chloe is barely cognisant of her jeans falling down around her ankles, and then her boots and socks are gone and she stands naked before Lucifer. 

Lucifer captures her mouth with his and presses their bodies together. One hand cups her, feeling her wetness. He dips a finger into her, then two, scissoring them in a move that nearly buckles Chloe’s knees. Holy shit, she suddenly understands why so many people worship at the body of Lucifer Morningstar. 

“Lucifer,” she pants, and he kisses her breasts as his fingers quirk up and around and he’s hitting her g-spot. She’d slide to the floor if his left arm weren’t wrapped around her waist, keeping her from falling. “Please,” she moans.

Then he’s lifting her up and she wraps her legs around his waist. Beyond all expectation, she feels his cock against her, hard again, and instead of taking her into the bedroom as she assumes, he catches her eyes with his, and she’s lost in their deep brown depths as he slides into her oh-so-slickly. It’s Chloe’s turn to moan as Lucifer sinks in deep, and pauses a moment to ask if she’s ok.

“Fuck me,” she says, and can’t help but laugh when he replies, “As you desire,” and begins to move.

Lucifer feels incredible. The angle is one she’s never had during sex, and every time he thrusts into her, a jolt of pleasure courses through her body. One strong arm holds her up, the other runs over her breast and nipple. Chloe’s being worked over like never before, and she’s not even lying in a damn bed. 

She’s holding onto him, relishing the delicious burn every time he bottoms out inside her, the slap of his body against hers, the way he’s lost in his own pleasure, moans joining her own. Lucifer’s rangy hip bones are leaving marks, she’s sure, and she welcomes them. Unlike most men she’s been with, his eyes are open, drinking her in with every stroke. 

Her orgasm builds too soon, but she can’t bring herself to tell him to slow down. Lucifer shifts her just a little, and -  _ there _ \- he’s stroking along her g-spot. Chloe’s breath stutters and she hears herself scream as she comes, her body pulsing with a brutally intense orgasm. Waves of pleasure short circuit her brain. Chloe disconnects.  _ Please leave a message, she’ll be right back.  _

Lucifer tips over that edge just after and comes again. He bites into her neck, not hard enough to hurt, but it brings Chloe back to reality, and Chloe knows there will be a mark tomorrow. 

Together, they ride through the aftershocks. Lucifer pulls her tight against him, whispering, “Detective.” It sounds like a prayer. 

Her legs tremble, and Lucifer comes back to himself. The smile he gives her is blissed out, almost dopey. 

He carries her to the bedroom, still sheathed inside her body, where he lays her on his silk sheets and slowly pulls out. Chloe rolls over to make room for Lucifer to slip in beside her, and they cuddle. Chloe didn’t even know he was capable of cuddling. 

“So….” she finally says.

“Stay the night?” he asks, and Chloe can’t help but smile. She’s not used to this earnest, tender Lucifer.

“Yes, of course.” Chloe strokes his cheek, marveling at her Devil.

“This calls for dinner and a bath, not necessarily in that order.” Lucifer rolls out of bed and stands. He reaches a hand out. “Interested?”

Chloe checks out the view, then rises to join him. “Only if you don’t put on any clothing,” she says, and as Lucifer laughs wickedly, she suddenly thinks that Lucifer Morningstar definitely needs to be naked a lot more often.


End file.
